New Madrid Earthquake

by Bobby Akart

  Once the teleconference started, she was introduced as being available for questions or comments, but the course of the meeting focused largely on the damage to the region, with a particular focus on sending in federal government resources to assist the various states.

  She was receiving insight into the magnitude of the damages and the number of deaths associated with the M8.5 quake, which was not to be disseminated to the public, their staffs, or even their families. She was reminded, as was everyone in attendance, that the discussions and revelations were not to leave the room, whether they were there in person or virtually. The circumstances were dire, and the president didn’t want people flocking to the scene of the disaster to hunt for loved ones, to loot, or seek out photo opportunities to share on social media.

  The president’s chief of staff conducted the meeting in a very calm, workmanlike manner.

  “Let’s move on to the situation in Crittenden County, Arkansas. This area is directly across Shelby County and stretches from Tunica, Mississippi, in the south to just past Millington in Tennessee. The principal city is West Memphis.

  “The issue at hand relates to the superfund sites located in Crittenden County. The Gurley Pit, located a few miles west of the Mississippi River, has been used to dump waste sludge containing PCBs as well as heavy amounts of barium, lead, and zinc.

  “Also, in West Memphis, we have a situation at the South Eighth Street Landfill, also a superfund site, that contains in excess of twenty thousand cubic yards of highly acidic oil sludge containing lead, PCBs, and pesticides. The groundwater there is at risk of lead, arsenic, and manganese contamination.”

  He paused to remove his glasses and look into the camera. “For those unaware, a superfund site is a landfill and waste disposal facility that has been identified by the EPA as posing a potential risk to human health and the environment.

  “We’ve received reports that both of these superfund sites have undergone a significant amount of quake activity. The ground surrounding the sites has begun to sink, and the toxic sludge levels have dropped significantly. I don’t have to paint a complete picture of where this hazardous waste is going.

  “There are dozens of superfund sites in Arkansas, and dozens more along the Mississippi River in the affected states. The EPA has advised me that these superfund sites are most likely going to seep their toxic sludge into the groundwater. They want to dispatch inspectors to these locations to conduct a complete assessment before we decide how to clean up the damned mess.

  “In addition, there are fifteen nuclear plants located in the New Madrid Seismic Zone. Homeland Security has assured me that these facilities are constructed to withstand an earthquake of this magnitude, um, 8.5, as I’m told by the USGS. They claim we are not at risk of a Fukushima-type nuclear disaster because the temblor itself didn’t cause structural damage to the Japanese plant, it was the tsunami.

  “However, I was advised that these plants may not necessarily fare that well if severe aftershocks were to strike the region. I need to ask, um, let me see, Dr. Lansing with the USGS if she’s been able to forecast the timing and intensity of the aftershocks, if any. Dr. Lansing?”

  She perked up in her chair. “I’m here, sir. Dr. Charlotte Lansing with the NEIC in Golden, Colorado.

  “Sir, most large earthquakes are followed up by aftershocks. They’re basically smaller earthquakes than the mainshock, as we call it, that make up an aftershock sequence. Just because they are smaller doesn’t mean they are less damaging or deadly.”

  A male voice off camera interrupted her explanation. Suddenly, everyone in the Situation Room pushed away from the conference table and stood at attention. The President of the United States had arrived and made his way to the head of the conference table.

  “Welcome, Mr. President,” said his chief of staff.

  “I have a question for Dr. Lansing,” he began without acknowledging the other attendees. “These aftershocks, are they going to be smaller?”

  “Not necessarily, Mr. President,” she replied nervously. She’d expected him to be there and had been somewhat relieved when he wasn’t. It was easier for her to speak to a chief of staff or some off-camera generals than the leader of the free world. “A small fraction of earthquakes are followed by a larger seismic event. In that case, the first earthquake is reclassified as a foreshock.”

  “A small fraction?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. If I may, by way of example, in 2011, the M9.1 Great Tohuku earthquake and tsunami in Japan were preceded two days before by an M7.3 foreshock. At the USGS, when the first quake occurred, it was called the mainshock and later recharacterized.”

  “Two days?” he asked.

  “Yes, Mr. President, but every seismic event is different.”

  “Stand by, Dr. Lansing. I’ll be back to you in a moment,” said the president. He turned to the FEMA administrator. “Give me your most up-to-date damage assessment.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Within the eight-state affected region, we have estimates of nine hundred sixty thousand buildings damaged or destroyed. Damage to critical infrastructure—essential facilities like hospitals, utilities, transportation and communications—is substantial in the one hundred seventy counties throughout the rupture zone. We have thirty-eight hundred damaged bridges. Over forty-four hundred breaks or leaks to both local and interstate pipelines. The households without power number in the several million. Hundreds of thousands of Americans are dead, and millions are injured or homeless.”

  The president allowed the FEMA administrator’s words to hang in the air. He sighed, clasped his hands in front of him, and leaned on the conference table toward the camera.

  “Dr. Lansing, I have to give the order to send in the largest rescue and recovery effort in the history of modern mankind. I’ve been on the phone with world leaders, which was the reason I was late, and instructed my chief of staff to get underway. We have commitments from forty nations to send in personnel, supplies, and equipment to help us.”

  He paused again. His steely eyes bored through the videocam lens as if they were mere inches away from hers.

  “I’m about to commit the entire resources of this nation to help those in need. I’m asking foreign governments to commit their people to assist. I want to know if I can safely do so. I want you to tell me whether this thing is over.”

  Dr. Lansing stared back at him. “Mr. President, I don’t believe it is.”

  The room burst into conversation as the resident expert on the New Madrid Seismic Zone revealed her opinion that this seismic event might continue.

  After the murmur calmed down, the president addressed her. “Dr. Lansing, I’m in a damn tough position here. We’ve got to help our citizens, but I can’t in good conscience send many thousands of people into a precarious situation like this, especially if I’m effectively signing their death warrants. I need you to be sure.”

  “Mr. President, at the USGS, we make an aftershock forecast that can provide situational awareness for decisionmakers like yourself. We try to predict the number of aftershocks as well as the probability of subsequent larger earthquakes.

  “Our goal is to provide as accurate a model as possible to delineate the expected number of smaller aftershocks, M3 or greater. We also predict the aftershocks that could do more damage in the realm of M5 or greater. But we have to also consider the possibility for future moderate M6 to larger M7+ quakes.

  “We look at the present data and, this is important in the case of the New Madrid Seismic Zone, past quake sequences. The last time an earthquake of this intensity and magnitude struck the region was in the winter of 1811 through 1812. Those three quakes, occurring over a seven-week timeframe, ranged from M7 through M7.7 based upon our study of the geologic record. But the three additional aftershocks following the initial M7.5 mainshock on December 16, 1811, ranged from M6 to M6.5. They took place the same day and into the next day.”

  The president raised his hand to interrupt her. “If aftershocks of this
magnitude took place now, they’d be just as devastating as the first, right?”

  “Under the circumstances, yes, sir. Keep in mind, the M8.5 we recorded last night is one hundred times bigger than an M6.5 aftershock, and its energy release is one thousand times stronger. However, if multiple aftershocks were to occur in rapid succession like in 1811, the impact would be the same as if it was a larger quake.”

  “Dr. Lansing,” the president began, “what if we have a situation like Japan in 2011? Another magnitude eight or even a nine?”

  “Mr. President, the size of the earthquake, its magnitude, is largely a function of the length of the fault line. For example, the largest recorded earthquake, an M9.5, occurred in 1960 in Chile along a fault that approached a thousand miles. New Madrid is nowhere near that.”

  The president appeared confused by her statement. “So it can’t get any worse, yet you’re telling me it’s unsafe to send our people in.”

  “Mr. President, there is a difference between the size and the energy released. It’s the strength of the quake that determines, for the most part, the amount of damage. The size determines how widespread an area is impacted. In the case of the current seismic sequence, I believe additional quakes are possible, also in the M7 or greater range.

  “I hope this isn’t out of line, but you could liken it to a heavyweight boxing match. A boxer might be able to withstand a single punch to the head. However, punches two, three and four, even if they were a lesser intensity, might knock him out. That’s what we’re dealing with here.”

  “Large aftershocks?” he asked.

  “Or, sir, additional M7+ earthquakes in their own right at other trigger points along the New Madrid fault or in the immediate vicinity. My hypothetical models have shown multiple quakes can occur during a seismic sequence like this one, with epicenters ranging from Memphis to above St. Louis, or other points within the two-hundred-mile boundaries of the New Madrid Seismic Zone.”

  The president had heard enough. He thanked Dr. Lansing for her candor, and she was abruptly dismissed from the teleconference. She didn’t take it personally. She presumed decisions were about to be made that would upset millions of people more than they were already.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Saturday, December 22

  Tunica, Mississippi

  It was approaching dawn when Beth, Willie, and Carla Angel stopped talking about the events of the last twelve hours. All of them were spent when they made their way to bed. Naturally, Beth was anxious to get to the Atwoods’ home, but she had to get some sleep for the sake of the baby. Besides, as Willie later confirmed, there weren’t any car rental places in Tunica, and the hotels in Tunica Resorts up the highway were all without power. Beth only had one way to get to Cordova. Willie, after insisting with the help of Carla, said he’d drive Beth and Anthony up there himself. The only downside was they’d have to wait until Sunday morning.

  After sleeping ’til midafternoon, Beth spent the day talking with Carla about a myriad of subjects ranging from babies to husbands to the movies they’d seen about earthquakes. Carla was an incredibly loving grandmotherly type who talked Beth off the cliff several times as she began to worry about Tony and the Atwoods.

  Carla gave Willie a sack lunch of baloney and cheese sandwiches to munch on during his shift. He promised to be safe, and he expected to be asked to work another double shift. Willie promised that after he got some sleep, they’d leave around nine in the morning.

  With Willie off to work, Carla returned to the conversation about movies. “Honey child, you know those movies are over the top. I mean, think about the one with The Rock. He’s a gorgeous hunk of man, but who can leap from one tall building to another? He ain’t no Superman.”

  Beth laughed. She was about to comment, but Carla was on a roll.

  “If you want to see a great earthquake movie, you gotta go back to the classics. You’re too young to remember Charlton Heston, Lorne Greene, and George Kennedy. They were giants of the big screen.”

  “I know Lorne Greene. He was on Bonanza. And Charlton Heston was Moses, right?”

  “That’s right. Classics. That’s all I watch anymore since Willie finally forked over the dough for a satellite system. I swear we were the last family in Tunica to have satellite and internet. Before, it was like livin’ in the stone age.”

  Like now, Beth thought to herself. She wondered how long people could survive without power being restored. She thought of her kitchen cabinets in the condo. They ate out so much that she and Tony would run out of food within days. Satellite television would be the least of their problems.

  They had a good talk. Later Carla took Beth and Anthony for a walk to meet some of the Angels’ friends. They exchanged information that had been gathered through gossip. They speculated what was truth and what was fiction. Beth digested everything she’d learned but resigned herself to the fact that tomorrow was going to be a big day, and today she’d simply enjoy relaxing with the lovely family who’d rescued her from the side of the road.

  That night, she slept well, but the odd sleeping habits finally caught up with her. She woke up when Willie arrived home from his overnight shift. Without meaning to intrude on her hosts, she sheepishly wandered out into the hallway in a housecoat loaned to her by Carla.

  Willie briefly brought the women up to speed on what he’d learned. He was frank with Beth.

  “Beth, I will tell you what I’ve heard, but just know it’s rumor. Without electricity, and because the president has issued a disaster declaration, no one is allowed into Memphis or St. Louis unless they are law enforcement or military.”

  “I understand. How bad is it?”

  “Both cities took a lickin’,” he replied as he set his hat on the kitchen table.

  Carla gave her husband a baby Coke, as they called it. The eight-ounce bottles were two-thirds the size of a typical can of classic Coca-Cola. He reached for a jar of Planters peanuts, grabbed several, and plunked them into the bottle. He took a long sip before the carbonation created by the mixture flowed out of the bottle.

  She provided Beth a glass of warm milk, her second of the night. She’d had one before going to bed to help calm her nerves. Carla explained all the so-called experts might say a glass of warm milk doesn’t help people rest, but she’d been using it to relieve her anxiety associated with Willie’s job for decades and swore by it. Beth was convinced, and both times, she found herself instantly relaxed. She did, however, make a mental note to try one of those baby Coke and peanut concoctions as soon as her baby girl was out of the hopper.

  “You know,” she began after she took a sip of milk, “I could easily be freakin’ out right now. Somehow, something inside tells me they’re all okay.”

  Willie nodded in agreement. “I wish we could jump in the car right now, but I need a little sleep, and also, the roads are dangerous. It’s just not a good time to be driving at night.”

  Beth affectionately reached out and touched Willie on the shoulder. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your help. So many bad things could’ve happened to me and Anthony. You’re a godsend, Willie. And you too, Carla. I’ll never forget the two of you.”

  Carla smiled and clasped her hands in front of her. “Honey, we’re glad to help. Listen up. Both of you need to shuffle off to bed. I’ll have some breakfast for you in the morning. While Willie gets a pass on going to church tomorrow, I’m gonna be over at the First Baptist Church. Pastor Parker isn’t gonna give any of God’s children a pass on Sunday services just ’cause the power’s out.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Saturday, December 22

  Mark Twain National Forest

  Eastern Missouri

  The man had not been dead for long. After a brief debate in which taking the truck was a foregone conclusion, the guys agreed it would be a bad idea to wrap the man’s body in one of the tarps located in the pickup bed. If they got stopped, trying to explain the stolen vehicle would be easier than a dead body w
rapped up in the back. The man had some gardening tools, including a hoe and a shovel. Jack drove down to the bottom of the exit ramp. Together, the guys buried the man by the side of the road. After paying their respects, Jack took the first turn behind the wheel and followed the F-150’s GPS navigation to work his way south through the Mark Twain National Forest. Tony was asleep within minutes, curled up in the back seat of the four-door pickup.

  It was approximately two hundred sixty miles to the I-40 bridge in West Memphis. The drive from Memphis to St. Louis on I-55 running parallel to the Mississippi River was one Jack had made a hundred times. Under normal circumstances, he could easily make it in just over three hours. That evening, forced to use the back roads due to the threat of rising waters and the likelihood that the epicenter of the quake was somewhere south of St. Louis, Jack took a route through East-Central Missouri.

  The Mark Twain National Forest had been a place his family frequented when he was a young boy. It was a fairly quick trip from Dyersburg in upper West Tennessee to the campgrounds of the park. They’d pull their pop-up camper behind the family SUV, load up food for several days plus fishing gear to supplement what his mom made at home, and rough it, as his father called it.

  He’d spent a lot of time fishing as a boy. Some of their favorite spots were located at Reelfoot Lake, halfway between Dyersburg and the town of New Madrid. The lake had been created as a result of the massive New Madrid quakes of 1811 and 1812. Fishing fueled Jack’s curiosity about the water, and he quickly gained an affinity for exploring the Mississippi.

  As soon as he got his driver’s license, he traveled up and down the river on day trips. Sometimes, he’d take his dates on picnics or road trips to various points of interest. He’d drive as far north as the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers and then work his way down toward Memphis.